I'm on my back, lying flat on the damp grass after a day of constant rain. My hands are gripping the blades, hanging on to the Earth, grasping to not fall into the sky. Looking up, all I see is a blank and textured flatland. The clouds ripple north and south from where I am, and expand toward the east and west. I say out loud, “If you tilt your head all the way back, it looks like a river.” “Yeah, it kind of does.” The river drifts all the way downstream and never ends; however, it will be dried up by the morning. But right now, it is luminous in every crevice of its pattern, purple and light. It is a couple hours before midnight; you’d think there would be snow on the ground. The sky shouldn’t be as light as it is, but there is no snow for the light to reflect in the beginning of the summer. Winter reflects summer, and summer reflects back into winter. The clouds stand there, still, not moving to make way for the stars. Some stargazing trip this was. Even in the absence of the stars, we still look at the sky, because the only presence that matters is each other. The moment is as frozen as the sky is, but of course, it will not last forever. It is only briefly that I forgot our time is not endless, and then I remember that in a few months we will be strangers. There will be many more starry nights to come this summer, but only the clouds matter right now. Since that night, I haven’t had a stargazing experience quite like that one. That night was almost toxic in a way; it gave a false hope of forever, but the reality is that a moment cannot last. Now, I will lay out a blanket with the friends I will keep for a very long time. We look at the sky, luminous with stars that didn’t exist on that past cloudy night. The river had washed up and all that remains are the treasures buried beneath it. A night like this is what everyone wants to search for, but won’t always get. I look back at that night sometimes – over a year ago, now – remembering the wet that soaked through my back and the grip I had on the grass. I remember letting go and letting my hand surrender to his. Our heads remained tilted down stream, where the water traveled to the neighboring city, where the river had maybe dispersed into little lakes. Here, however, the river stayed.